by Nick Carter
I gripped Christina's arm warningly, urging to keep moving without breaking stride. At first she didn't understand, but when she saw the car she stiffened; I dragged her forward.
"Don't look at them. Keep moving."
"But… how did they get here? With that car?"
"There are ferries, aren't there?"
"Oh. Yes. But why do they just… sit there?"
"More important, how did they know we'd be here?" We were almost opposite the car. The men inside slowly turned their heads as we passed by, but there was no change in their expressions.
Christina shrugged resignedly. "Everyone comes to Korfu. Or… did you tell that man where you rented the boat?"
I thought for a moment. "Probably. At least I said I'd probably be heading north."
"Did you have to tell him?"
"Couldn't avoid it. He wanted to know where I planned to go, and if I'd said I wanted to cruise the Cyclades he'd have thought it was strange."
"Why is that?"
"Look at a map. Pirgos is a long way from the Aegean; it would have made more sense to charter a boat at Piraeus if that was where I planned to go."
"Of course. And those men… could they have been the ones who tried to rent this one?"
"Uh-huh. And probably damaged the one I was Originally going to take. Only that doesn't make so much sense either." It didn't. If they wanted Alex, and by now I was convinced that no matter what Hawk had told me, there must have been a leak somewhere, why would they have tried to delay us back at Pirgos? The only answer I could think of was that if we stuck to travel by car it would be easier to follow us. It wasn't a very satisfactory answer.
When we were well beyond the Mercedes I steered the girl toward a little stall that featured a mind-numbing display of multi-colored scarves. "Buy one," I said. "Buy two, but take your time."
While she picked over the merchandise, to the smiling delight of the wrinkled old woman proprietor, I looked casually up and down the promenade. The men in the Mercedes hadn't moved, but I wasn't that much concerned about them; they had made themselves so conspicuous that I was certain there had to be others. But there was such a busy, constantly moving crowd it was just about impossible to pick out anyone who looked remotely suspicious; there were as many dark-suited European types as gaily dressed tourists, and my chances of finding the man who'd killed his partner in my room were damned slim.
And all day Christina had evaded my questions about her contact with Alex.
When she had picked out a couple of scarves we walked on. As I held her arm lightly the girl was trembling.
"What is it?"
"It… it is becoming chilly, I think."
"And…?"
"It is time, I think." She took my hand, turned over the wrist and looked at my watch. "Yes. We must go."
"I thought it wasn't until tomorrow."
"Today I am to… make the contact."
"But we weren't even supposed to be here today."
"But we are." Her smile was genuine, and a little too smug to suit me.
"Well you tricky little bitch." I laughed. "Do we walk?"
"No. We take a cab." She pointed ahead, toward a busy corner where a broad street ran back into the town from the promenade. "There should be one waiting there."
Once again she surprised me; I'd been expecting more evasion, but now she was evidently taking me along after all. I didn't say anything, but I pressed my free left arm against my side; Hugo nestled reassuringly in his sheath.
There were half a dozen cabs at the corner, parked in front of a big, sprawling old hotel that looked like the restored ruins of a Greek temple, its marble facade dingy with age. "Any particular one?" I asked as we approached the corner.
"Oh…" Christina stopped, closed her eyes and waved her forefinger in a little circle, then pointed. "That one," she said, opening her eyes again.
That one was a dusty old Ford, manned by a bored-looking driver who was busily picking his teeth and ignoring the passersby. Several of the other drivers stood on the curb beside their cabs, bowing and gesturing, but Christina sailed past them to open the rear door of her choice. The burly man behind the wheel looked up reluctantly; he didn't seem at all eager to take on any passengers. Must have been a New York taxi driver, I reflected, as I followed Christina into the musty rear of the cab.
The driver didn't look around, but sighed and shifted heavily in his seat. Christina leaned forward and said something in rapid Greek. He nodded reluctantly, started the engine and put the car in gear.
After a U-turn we made our way through the heavy traffic along the wide street; soon it narrowed, and the rows of elegant shops were succeeded by a district of block-like houses, built side by side with hints of cool courtyards behind the solid array of blank facades. A black-clad woman riding a burdened donkey came toward us, unconcerned by the traffic backed up behind her. As we passed her, the driver spat out the window and muttered something; I didn't have to know the language to understand what he said.
The street began to climb steeply; the houses became farther apart and we saw children playing in dusty yards, chickens pecking at the ground, nondescript dogs too indifferent to do more than lift their heads and stare at the passing cab. Soon the town was behind us, and the paved street gave way to a smooth dirt road that began to wind back and forth up the steep, tree-covered hill.
We drove in silence until we reached a crest. The driver slowed as we approached a small grove clustered around what appeared to be a temple of some sort, or possibly a tomb. Either way, it was of white marble, with columns in front flanked by sculptures with a basin in front that looked like a bird bath. The cab driver passed it, then made an abrupt left and came to a stop on a little turnout.
"Oh, what a superb view!" Christina cried.
From where we were parked we could see the entire town and the harbor below us, like a picture post card in the golden light, but I wasn't interested in gorgeous views at this point. I leaned over to whisper to Christina. "Does he speak English?"
She shrugged. "I do not know."
I took a chance. "Is this… the place?" I was annoyed; it was a hell of a place to make any kind of contact. The road wasn't exactly busy, but there was a fairly steady stream of traffic going back and forth.
As I spoke to the girl I was aware that the taxi driver was slowly turning to look back at us. The toothpick still in his mouth, he began a long, slow smile.
"So," he said. "It was you they sent. You don't look one little bit different, all these years, Nick Carter."
Thirteen
Before I could say anything he had the car in reverse, backed out into the road and continued along the road. Give her credit; Christina seemed as astonished as I was. She squeezed my hand hard, staring openmouthed at the back of the driver's head.
"Al…" she began, but I silenced her with a look.
"Yes. It is me." The driver took off the flat, checkered cap he wore; his head was bald, but he was sitting straighter behind the wheel now, and even from the rear and after fifteen years I could see the bull strength in the neck and shoulders. "Naxos." He named the year and the month. "You and me, Nick. Grenades in a cave. I stop the airplane, you shoot the man who was going to kill me. What they do to that sergeant boy, anyway, when you get him back to Germany?"
I didn't reply. Not to his question, anyway. "I'd like a better look at your face," I said carefully.
"Sure. We be where we going pretty soon, then I turn around. Fifteen years, I change some, yes?"
It was hard to tell. All I'd seen when we got in the cab was a heavy face with the usual thick black mustache. I definitely wasn't expecting to find Alex Zenopolis on a street corner in the middle of Korfu, and certainly not today.
"I'll let you know. Where are we going?"
"You and my sister will have drinks at tourist place a little way from here. Very sensational view, American bar with martinis and daiquiris. You still like bourbon best of all, Nick?"
I was
remembering the story a World War II flyer told me, about how he was shot down over Germany and when they took him in for interrogation after he was captured, the man across the desk from him told him things about himself even he'd forgotten.
"My name is Daniel McKee," I said evenly. "I'm a yacht broker from Florida, and a daiquiri sounds mighty good."
The driver laughed heartily, shrugged massive shoulders and speeded up, rounding a curve as the road began to ascend again. He didn't speak until we pulled into the shrubbery-screened drive that led to a low, sprawling restaurant that was all but hidden from the road. We stopped in front of a deep, shadowed porch, and as an attendant started down the wide steps toward us, the driver turned to look at me. He smiled, showing the wide gap between his front teeth.
"Half an hour I wait. No more. You have big night ahead of you."
The attendant opened the door; Christina and I got out and went inside. Alex, by then I'd decided I might as well call him that, was right about the view from a sheltered terrace cantilevered over the slope on the far side of the restaurant. Candles flickered in windproof holders on each table, and in the gathering darkness the water far below turned gleaming silver, shading into pewter and then gradually deepening to black. From where we sat the lights of the town were invisible, but out in the harbor were hundreds of tiny gleams like a congress of fireflies. Neither of us spoke, and I don't think Christina paid any attention to the view at all.
Alex was waiting for us at the entrance. We were back on the road before he spoke.
"You still doubt me, Nick Carter?"
"Only a little," I admitted.
"Good. I tell you, your people never so much as hinted that you were to meet me. Good security; if I don't look anything like Alex Zenopolis who is to know besides you, eh?"
"Uh-huh."
He shifted his bulk in the seat ahead of us. "Christina, my sister. Forgive I do not speak much to you. I remember you only as a little girl."
She rattled something back at him in their language. He laughed.
"No, we speak English. Better for Nick, eh?"
I had to take the risk some time. "Okay, Alex. What do we do next? Why are you here now?"
"In our business we do not keep exact timetable. Remember we wait three days for those smugglers?"
"Yes."
"So I have to leave Albania a day early. Is okay; we were to meet like this tomorrow. Same place, same time. Little Christina, she knows nothing more than that, eh my sister?"
"That is right."
"Do we leave tonight?" I asked.
"No. You and my sister, you finish your little love affair with big night on the town. You dance, you eat, you hold hands, and then tomorrow you say the sad farewell as you sail away and the little student returns to Athens with the slightly broken heart. Is that not so?"
It was what I'd had in mind. On the off-chance that we were wrong about being followed, the idea was to keep our brief affair as believable as possible.
"And what do you do in the meantime, Alex?"
"Tonight I drive you two around from place to place. Then I return you to your boat. You will show me where it is moored. Before dawn I will come aboard, and no one will see me. I am the stowaway, yes?"
"How are you going to do it?"
He shrugged. "I swim. I know how to be like invisible fish in water in dark."
I was silent for a moment. We passed the little temple; several cars were parked at the lookout opposite, and one couple stood, hand-in-hand, in front of the columns. I envied them; Christina's hand was cold in mine.
"How did you get hold of this cab?" I asked.
"I am not without contacts here, my friend. There are others I can trust on this island. Do you wish to know some more?"
"No," I said.
"Okay. No problems?"
"I hope not." I was far from satisfied, but I kept my doubts to myself.
* * *
It was the grimmest night of celebration I've ever spent. We had dinner at the Pavileon, eating outdoors under trellised vines with a view of the island's most exclusive beach. We ate langouste taken live from the water in their cages only a few feet away from our table. The lights were subdued, the crowd rich and making sure everyone knew it. I recognized at least two movie stars, including an actress I'd been in love with as a teenager. All these years later she looked, close up, even better than she had then.
Later we went to the discotheque at the Palace Hotel, where against my will I gyrated with Christina on the dance floor. It was so jammed it didn't make any difference what we did, but even in that crowd the girl attracted more than her share of male attention. I didn't like it, but not for the usual reason; there was an air of controlled desperation in her movements and expression, as though she were listening for the sound of disaster. Anyone who looked at her closely would get the impression that she was on drugs of some sort, but I supposed in that crowd that wouldn't be too unusual.
There was another place, and a few more after that, always with the implacable Alex on hand to taxi us around the busling city. Twice I spotted the tan Mercedes, but it didn't bother me much; I was on the lookout for other watchers. Several times I was on the verge of warning Alex, but the man was so confident and, as I vividly remembered, so damned capable I decided to keep quiet. I was both right and wrong.
At two in the morning, it felt much later, Alex announced it was time to head for the boat. There was a launch service from dockside, so we didn't have to struggle with the miniature dinghy. We stood on the well-lighted quay as I thrust a wad of paper money at our "driver" and asked him to return in the morning. The young man waiting in the launch watched us disinterestedly, yawning hugely.
"No," Alex spat. "Tomorrow I go across the island, visit my mother."
"Okay. There are other drivers."
"Yes." He made a deliberately insulting show of counting the money, grunted and backed away so quickly I had to jump aside. Christina and I watched him drive away, then smiled ruefully at each other as we stepped into the launch.
During the short ride we made small talk, mostly for the helmsman close behind us.
"He was so bad," Christina said. "I am sorry I picked him."
"Oh well. It was a good night anyway, wasn't it?"
For answer she kissed me, softly on the cheek, then with more passion just under the line of my jaw. "But," she said sadly after a little while, "we will not need him tomorrow anyway. When does my flight leave? Two?"
"I think so." Some time during the evening she had gone to a phone and made reservations to fly back to Athens. "Wish you could stay another day or so."
"But it is not possible. And you must sail to Italy, too."
"I'm in no hurry." I rubbed her shoulders, enfolding her in my arms and holding her close. The helmsman slowed the engine, all his attention on his approach to Scylla riding at her mooring.
"But… I am. Unfortunately." Christina sighed and pulled away from me as the launch slid to a stop alongside the darkened sloop; only its riding lights were burning, low-wattage electric bulbs that drained very little from the batteries.
I paid the launch boy and we went below. As we entered the pitch dark cabin Christina stopped abruptly in front of me on the companionway.
"What is it?" I hissed, my left arm automatically away from my side, Hugo ready to be dropped into my hand from the sheath.
"I… it is nothing." She moved on into the cabin.
I quickly looked around; the light coming from the dock-side wasn't much, but there was no place to hide, either. I went forward, checking the head and hanging locker, then the other cabin. No one. Christina was lighting one of the kerosene lanterns when I returned.
"We won't want those tonight," I said.
"But…"
"If Alex is going to swim out here and sneak aboard, let's not put a spotlight on him. Okay?"
"Oh. How foolish of me." She extinguished the light, then turned to me in the cramped space between the bunks and the table. F
or a moment she was in my arms, her head pressed against my chest, and through the thin fabric of my shirt I could feel the sudden, hot tears.
"What is it?" I soothed, stroking her hair softly.
"Oh… so many things, McKee. Or Nick Carter, or whoever you are." She knuckled her eyes and sniffled. "Last night I said it was our only time together. And I was right but I didn't think it would be because of this. I had hoped, all day today, that my… my instinct was wrong. But it was right, wasn't it?"
A short while ago I'd been bone-weary after the long day of sailing and the festive evening, but as we stood pressed together in that narrow space I felt all the tiredness drop away. "He won't be here for hours," I said softly.
For a moment she held me hard against her, then abruptly pulled away, "Can we have some bourbon, McKee? And let us sit well apart here in the dark until Alex comes. No matter what I feel for you I do not want to make love when at any moment my, brother may be joining us."
* * *
It was nearly five when Alex climbed silently over the stern of the boat, ducking around the davited dinghy and crawling through the cockpit to the companionway. I had Hugo in my hand as his head appeared in the opening.
"Hold it!" I hissed, letting the faint light gleam; on the blade.
"Is only me, Nick." Alex shoved a black waterproof bag ahead of him, then slid headfirst down the short ladder into the cabin. I flicked a penlight on him for an instant; he was in a wet suit that covered everything but his face. I snapped off the light.
"You weren't seen?"
"Impossible. You put this boat in a good place, my friend; the only others I had to pass were small craft. No one aboard them at night."
It hadn't been any accident, but I didn't have to tell him that. "You want some dry clothes?"
He indicated the bag on the deck in front of him. "I have. Maybe a towel. Two towels." He stood up, his bulk almost filling the space in the cabin. "I was big man when you first knew me, Nick. Now I am a little bit bigger." He started to strip off the wet suit, heedless of his sister. She went into the head for towels.